Bridges and bells in Provence

Travelling across Languedoc on our way to Vaucluse (Provence), we crossed the new and mighty Viaduct de Millau. This bridge is truly marvelous, floating high above the Tarn valley like a fleet of sailing ships. It is perhaps the first wonder of the 21st century and even more wondrous for the fact that the French took just three years to build it! (Lawrence commented at the time that the man across the road from us in Ashbury has taken longer to renovate his house.)
We were headed for the small hilltop village of Lourmarin in the ruggedly beautiful Luberon region of Vaucluse where we have based ourselves for the past two weeks. We are right in the thick of it here, in an extremely cute house on the top of the hill, wedged beneath the town clock tower and the village church and – yes - it has been a serious case of “The bells! The bells!” They strike the hour and the half hour, 24 hours a day. Over the past ten days they have also rung for two masses, two sessions of evening prayer, a baptism, a wedding and a funeral. It is amazing what you can get used to, however. We all sleep through them now.
My father Stan has joined us here which has been very special. He has coped admirably with the stairs in the house and the steep village streets, heading out on his morning boulangerie duty. Together we explored the surrounding villages of the Luberon, Aix- en-Provence and Avignon as well as Europe’s largest and deepest spring (380 metres deep) where the entire River Sorgue comes bubbling out of a mountainside and cascades down through the pretty town of La Fontaine de Vaucluse. We enjoyed many excellent games of 500 on our rooftop terrace and the odd, very pleasant kir or two in the village square. Yesterday we waved Stan off to Prague on the TGV where he is staying with his good Czech friend George.
John, the boys and I have also visited Orange and Arles where we have wandered around wonderful Roman ruins and ‘stepped inside’ many of Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings – that café on the street corner, the asylum/hospital gardens, the stairs to the bridge across the Rhone - they are all pretty much as we know them. From there, we continued south to The Camargue, the massive swampland at the mouth of the Rhone River where we saw fantastic birdlife, including hundreds of flamingoes, recently arrived from Africa on their annual summer vacation.
Tonight we are heading down to the village square to watch France’s first World Cup game against Uruguay. All day we have enjoyed watching Lourmarin’s three cafés battle it out for World Cup supremacy. In answer to “our” Chez Gaby’s pathetic little French flag pinned above the bar, the establishment opposite has unfurled a massive French flag down its façade. Now both have been gazumped by café No. 3 which, around lunchtime, unveiled a huge plasma screen (facing their tables of course), sending all the other waiters into an anxious huddle. We note that there were no such preparations for the women’s final of the French Open last week which we watched alone in Café Gaby with one waiter of Italian descent.
Anyhow,it’s salut for now. We are relieved to hear that friends in Lennox Head have escaped the worst of the tornado. We wish all you sodden Sydneysiders and North Islanders finer days ahead. Alison, John, Lawrence & Francis.